Outside In (22 page)

Randy and I tear off one another’s clothes like reunited lovers. I fall back onto the leather sofa, completely naked. Randy puts his lips around me and sucks slowly at first, gradually increasing the force. I lean back, numb from my self-prescribed medication, yet totally invigorated by the treatment administered by Randy. The muscles in my legs and ass spasm.

I lift him from my groin. “Wait, let me do you.” I take him in my hand while pushing my lips up and down, never breaking the seal, remembering what he said about suction and tongue. I rock back and forth on him while he plays with me with his foot. I feel him soften in my mouth. I increase the intensity.

Randy stops me. “I don’t think it’s going to happen. Sometimes when I party I can’t get off. But I want you to.” He leans me back on the floor, again sucking vigorously. I picture Astrid, but as his coarse hands rub me, I’m reminded that it’s another man who is pleasuring me. The contractions in my legs and ass begin again. Each time he swallows, I go deeper in his throat. I’m only seconds away. Saliva runs into the crack of my ass. His finger slides inside me. I explode, thrusting my hips forward, feeling him swallow the tip and all the discharge.

Randy continues to suck, eventually leaving me cleaner than when we started. He pulls off me. “I guess I should get you out to Bean’s.”

The reality of what happened settles in. I can’t face the others. “Just take me home. I’ve had enough for one day.”

The drive is quiet. I stare out the window feeling like a whore who has just pleasured his sugar daddy.

“Don’t worry about anything,” Randy says as he pulls up behind the red barn. “We had some drinks and you went home. Nobody has to know any different, and don’t think this has to
happen on a regular basis. It’s a one-shot deal—no pun intended—unless you want differently.” He grabs my hand as I get out of the car. “I told you another man knows how to suck a dick, huh?”

“What happened to you last night?” The voice from my doorway is sweet and familiar. Astrid enters and sits on the edge of my bed. “Cinch kept telling me you were going to meet us out, but when you never showed, I thought maybe he was stroking me to keep me partying with him.”

I try to sit up, but the axe stuck in the middle of my forehead forces me back down. “I, uh, was going to come out, but once I got to the Skyway and had a drink, I was tired, so I just came home.” I look away, unable to keep eye contact with her.

“I also wanted to make sure you’re not weirded out by what happened before you left.” She leans over and kisses me on the cheek. “We’re still friends.”

I smile, but I’m not thinking about her. I’m only thinking of the real reason I didn’t see her last night. I say, “I am so sorry about the other night.” The shame from last night has transformed into fear that others may find out. I roll her on her back. She looks surprised, but she pulls me close. Our lips lock in a fevered embrace. I slide my hand to her crotch, pressing my groin into her thigh, attempting to prove to her, and to myself, that I’m still a man. Our breathing becomes heavier, our movements more emotional.

“Wait. We can’t.” She slides out from under me. “I have to go. I have to be at work.”

I grab her hand. “Don’t go. I screwed up. Give me another chance.”

“No, this isn’t right. I’ve got to go.” She pulls away. “I’ll see you around.”

I wait for my arousal to dissipate and move to the shower.
Maybe I can simultaneously scrub away the physical traces and the subsequent confusion from last night. I wanted to move away from the person I was becoming by coming to the island. But in the past twenty-four hours, I’ve not only destroyed the person I once was, but also ruined any progress I may have made since my arrival.

I get ready for work quickly and quietly, still not yet ready to face the others. If I can be out early, I won’t have to deal with them until they show up for work. I need to build some confidence around other people first. I need to convince myself of the lie I’m going to tell about last night. Strangers don’t see through the cracks as easily as people who know you.

“What’s bothering you today?” Cinch asks while on break before the evening shift. “You’ve been out of it all day.”

I’ve been trying to act normal, or at least steer clear of anyone I know, throughout the day, but the question was inevitable. He sees the crack. We’re too close for me to be able to hide anything.

I say, “I don’t know what’s wrong. I guess the trip took a lot out of me. Maybe my body is finally rebelling against the torture I’ve put it through. Tonight I should just take it easy and get a good night’s sleep. Birch arrives tomorrow, so it might be my last chance for any rest until after the Fourth.”

Cinch offers to find someone to work for me, but time off is exactly what I don’t need. I have to stay busy and keep my mind occupied. I vow to stay on the porch and out of the mix.

He says, “Relax now—Brooke called. Things are going to get interesting around here. She and Dawn are coming this weekend. Have you talked to Dawn?”

“No, and I don’t plan to. I’m not getting involved in her mess.”

“Too late. She broke off her engagement.”

I push my hand through my hair in frustration. “Well, have fun hanging out with both of them because I ain’t going to be there.”

“Whatever happens, we’ll be busy. People will party to get ready for the holiday, party to get through the holiday, and party once it’s all over.”

“SHEP, YOU UP YET?”
Birch’s voice resonates from the living room like the engine of a rescue plane. He’s early, something you never expect from musicians, especially in the morning.

I wrap a towel around my waist and emerge from the bathroom, still dripping with water. He is exactly the person I need to see right now, a familiar frame of reference to regroup around. I understand the person I am when I’m with Birch. More than anything, he’s someone from outside the party circle. I love my friends here, but if the drugs were removed, how much time would we really share? That’s probably why there’s so much false brotherhood surrounding the party scene. People don’t want to admit the real reason they’re hanging out, so they overemphasize the true value of their friendships.

Birch’s return marks the beginning of the entertainment cycle again. Working at the Round House is like working in a toll-booth. People pass through on a regular basis, and although our interactions are brief, I learn a lot about them because of the
frequency of their visits. Not to mention that reunions are always an excuse to party.

“What’s happening, baby?” He hugs me, lifting me off the ground.

I catch my falling towel. “Why’re you so pumped up today?”

“Dude, you’re not going to believe what happened. About eight weeks ago I put together some promo packs and sent them to different record companies, but I didn’t get any responses. That’s why I was frustrated about my CD the last time I was here. So before we left, I was loading the van when the phone rang. Usually I let it go to voice mail, but for some reason I decided to pick it up. It was a producer from a small label in Nashville. He really liked the CD and said he’s gonna pass it on to upper management. I’m not expecting much, but the toughest hurdles are over. We’ll at least get a listen, which is all I ever wanted. At the very least, a few execs will make a trip to see us live. He’s supposed to call me next week to set up a time when we have a few gigs in a row. It’s crazy, man. Nothing happens, and then from out of nowhere, you catch a break.”

“That’s awesome. Which gigs?”

“Probably next time we come here. This is kind of our home. Where’s Cinch?”

“Still sleeping.”

“Wake his ass up. Let’s grab lunch somewhere.”

“It’ll have to be quick. We have to work at one.”

“Since when are you guys on time? Meet me at Frosty’s. Time to celebrate.”

Although I’m happy for him, I feel empty when he leaves. He’s working toward something. What am I working toward? What do I have to look forward to?

I go into Cinch’s room to wake him. Also asleep underneath the covers is Brooke. The visual itself isn’t as shocking as the attached implication that Dawn is not far behind.

I put my hand on his shoulder. He opens his eyes and stares at me, obviously still not awake. I say, “I’m meeting Birch at Frosty’s for lunch. Get up and meet us down there.”

Cinch smiles and moves his eyes several times in Brooke’s direction. “Look who showed up last night.”

“Dare I even ask if her partner is here?”

“She is, but I think your troubles might be over. She was all chummy with Bean and this guy Mize from the Beer Barrel. You should’ve seen her. She was flirting so hard, and I know it was so that people would come back and tell you. Like you even care.” Brooke stirs. “Go ahead. I’ll see you there shortly.”

I go for a walk to kill some time before meeting Birch. The pain and confusion from yesterday still linger but have receded. The experience with Randy is just another benchmark. Once again I have ventured into the unknown and at least for now have safely returned.

Birch is with Cinch at the bar when I walk into Frosty’s. “Man, that was a quick getaway,” I say. “Forty minutes ago, Brooke wasn’t even awake. How’d you get rid of her so quickly?”

Cinch slides a Bloody Mary toward me. “Just told her I had to work. Put her ass in a cab and sent her to Robin’s.”

Birch says, “Nothing but class around here.”

“What do you mean?” Cinch says. “I paid the two bucks.”

I look around the bar. “Being here for lunch is a new experience for us. We usually open it with the fishermen at seven a.m. after a long night. I swear I’ve taken at least three years off my life in the past three months.”

“Maybe that’s the conversion,” Birch says, obviously about to go on one of his stream-of-consciousness tangents. I welcome it, though. Having these types of conversations is exactly how we
became friends. “Maybe one month here equates to one year on the mainland. That’s why people typically only last one or two seasons. Think about how much you do here and how many people you see in a month. A month might be exaggerating things, but you could definitely equate four months to a year. And the place is only busy for four months, so people cram a year’s worth of experience into that short time.”

I say, “Time doesn’t age you; experience does.”

“Exactly,” Birch says. “If I do in four months what most people do in a year, haven’t I really lived a year?”

Cinch says, “But you’re gauging your life by some other frame of reference. You’re saying that what another person does in a year is the standard, which might not be true. Maybe they’re not doing enough, and a year of your life is average. In the end, does it really matter how old we are anyway, or what we did at age twenty-five, thirty-five, or forty-five?”

I raise my glass. “I’ll drink to that. Birch, go order the pizza. We only have an hour before we have to work. Anything but onion for me.”

After Birch leaves, Cinch says, “Dude, you should’ve seen Dawn and Mize last night. She kept asking me about you and what she should do. I kept telling her to back off and give you space, but she kept bugging me. Finally I told her you were seeing someone else. As soon as I said that, she turned her attention to Bean and Mize. He’s a buddy fucker from way back, so he was more than happy to play the game, keeping one eye on her and one on the door, hoping you’d walk in.”